Crippled
by Leara Fiera
Summary: After a car accident, Kensi is confined to a wheelchair. Now, Deeks must aid his stubborn partner who tends to be uncooperative. Kensi will realize that Deeks isn't just immature. Trust and something else is growing between them when inconvenience strikes
1. News

**A/N: **This is something I've been toying with the last two days and although I originally wrote it to amuse myself in the absence of anything useful to write on** the Albeit Abnormal series (NCIS fic) - which I have not putted on hiatus; the fourth chapter is just establishing very slowly in my mind and so far, all I've written is crap -** I have decided to publish this. It's NCIS: Los Angeles and it's mostly gonna be** Deeks/Kensi - DENSI **:D It's my first story about 'em, so** please review and let me know how I'm doing. **It'll be published in small pieces which will make new parts appear faster.

Also, the title is not meant to be discrimination or anything in that likeness; it is in this case used to describe the physical imprisonment of Kensi and her emotional awareness. I do not mean to insult anyone.

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its content and characters. **

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><p><strong>Part 1: News<strong>

When he gets the news, he's not sure how to react. The fact that Kensi has been in a car accident is nearly ironic; and with her driving, quite possible. As the scenario unfolds in his mind, the quick smirk evaporates and is immediately replaced by worry, fear, and concern for his partner. The unreasonable angst that is associated with anything involving the possibility of Kensi being, or getting, hurt.

Amazingly, he manages to sweep his keys from their place and storm out the room, remembering nothing of it afterwards, forever lost in memory. How he has recalled which hospital is truly marvelous, because he doesn't remember asking or being told that Kensi had been admitted into the Los Angeles General Hospital ER. He only realizes that Nell is with him by the time he shuts the car door, rushing to the main entrance. She is following behind, trying to soothe his sudden apathy of the world. He has been a cop, he knows how bad car crashes can be. And what he fears the most is the irrationality of it; you cannot protect yourself completely from a car crash. With Kensi's driving, there's room for improvement, but she can't out her opponent in a car, cannot trick the bad guy. It is an un-calculated factor in their lives, a danger they cannot spin to their favor. And the thought terrifies him even though he wants to echo calm, being the visual of pure faith in his partner's ability to survive something like that. But he knows her hazardous ways behind a steering wheel, and it does not comfort him.

Panting, he arrives to the nurses' station, his badge appearing magically from somewhere on his person. He scans the room quickly for anything – maybe Kensi in a corner, huge smirk on her face, shouting, Gotcha!, but he recognizes no-one. Callen, Sam and Hetty are probably on their way, but he has no idea if Kensi, like him, has listed Hetty as their emergency contact. His faith in Kensi has left him baffled and far from omniscient. He knows the little ways of Kensi Blye, extraordinaire, but he has no idea about some of the more person stuff. He has acted on his belief that Kensi was somehow better than getting hurt.

He informs the first scrub-clad nurse he sees that he _needs _to know where Kensi Blye is. Frustration at her mere incompetence fills him up before he can even notice the pretty ringlets of the blonde twenty-ish nurse. He might have flirted with her if Kensi had been by his side, but nothing but Kensi being okay matters. He thinks he is doing well so far at keeping his worry succumbed. Anger rises, but he subdues it, impatiently waiting for the nurse to type in Kensi's name.

"_Kylie_" replies, bashing her eyelashes as she does so. "She is being tended by a doctor. She should be done in ten minutes, mr."

He nods dissatisfied, but knows that there's nothing he can do but wait. Despite this, he flashes the nurse his best puppy eyes, having actually practiced with Monty but never been truly tested until now, at Kylie, who, as intended, blushes slightly and sends him the corresponding look of sympathy.

"Would you please tell me when I can see her?" It doesn't sound much like a question, more like a plead. Whatever work, Deeks uses. Nell has caught up with him by now, yet has chosen to remain silent.

"Er," Kylie says, obviously in doubt. She knows it's against regulations to inform anyone of a patient's status if they're not relatives against the patient's wishes. But she also understands how adorable and needy this handsome lad in front of her looks. She seems like an opportunist, but they will never know, because Nell interrupts, steadily flashing an ID.

"This is her friend. I'm Kensi's cousin," the pixie-size intelligence analyst declares, and if any given situation were to happen, Deeks would have been gawk-eyed at Nell's affinity with lying, but for now, he only thinks of Kensi, as much as he tries to assure himself that she is probably fine. Who's ever been able to truly defeat his temperamental partner and get away with it?

Nervousness and mixed frustration takes over and the supposed ten minutes seem like hours passing by. Nell knows better than to soothe him now; he won't truly listen, and the shock of the news are slowly making their way to his conscious mind. He steadies himself, but actually finds himself slightly calmer by the time Nell's eyes catch his.

He wants to confirm that she's okay. But questioning whether or not she is okay seems wrong in the first place. Hell, she is Kensi Blye, and, as much as he tries to talk her out of it, it makes her basically invincible. The thought of it may be that kind of thinking that has ended her up here is dreadful and nauseating. Guilt surfaces where only a frail partnership is located. If he'd only _been there _to remind her that however offensive an LA citizen's driving can be, she breaks the threshold. Maybe she went into the car, hardheaded as ever, and somehow it seems like it's his fault.

Numbness actually renders him apathetic for about ten seconds. Then the overwhelming blend of frustration, guilt, worry, and fear resurfaces, powerful as ever.

Deeks solemnly wishes that he possessed that ability to empty out every thought and concern the way his teammates seem to. He is aware that nobody truly possesses that talent, but how many times has he not caught Kensi in going into something foolishly naïve. No, not naïve. That is not an adjective that describes her. Just thoughtless. Reckless. Not necessarily careless, just not thinking about how much it'd hurt others if she was injured. And he damns her, wishes to cuss in her name, but he cannot. Instead he blames himself.

Blame is something he does so wonderfully. Nine out of ten times, it is his fault, no matter what people tell him. He knows his responsibilities, even if people think he doesn't. He knows if somebody is trying to sugarcoat it, telling him that he had no way of knowing – that it wasn't his fault... Blame is an emotional lesson he was taught very early in life. Not like young boys trying to put the blame on others; no. He learnt to accept the blame, hate it for what it was, but to stand tall when his parents trashed him. Was it his fault his parents had ended up together? Yeah. His fault that his father couldn't get a job? Yeah.

Slowly, he'd started putting blame unto himself. By the time he was seven, he had been convinced that it was somehow also his fault that his mother couldn't fight against his father out of fear for his health. He had also gotten over that phase, instead seeing how piteous his mother was, showing her sympathy where she'd expected abuse.

Somehow, it was his fault, like it is somehow him to feel guilty for whatever has happened to Kensi. Maybe if he hadn't been so goofy. Maybe if he'd been more professional. His mind is full of maybes and it's tormenting.

A small hand breaks his train of thought, touching his shoulder lightly. He flickers his eyes furiously at Nell, startled to see her. He relaxes physically, then sees the news in her eyes. He is not sure what it is that tells him that Kensi is okay, not able to define what sort of emotion crosses the analyst's eyes, but he understands. Rising, he is led by Kylie, who has sympathetically offered to find them, through the ER to the more quiet patient rooms. Whether or not she is sent as a way to make sure he doesn't see her if she doesn't wish him to is out of the question. The thought doesn't brace Deeks.

The reach the room – 412 – in no time, but it seems like time itself is a concept stopped. The cream-painted walls aren't the least soothing, but perhaps that's because he worries for Kensi. The sterile scent of hospital equipment and medicine reaches his nostrils and before entering, he knows that if Kensi is conscious, she will complain. Maybe not in front of the doctors, but she hates hospitals – don't they all? Hospitals have the tendency to remind them of their mortality; sometimes too painfully a brace with death. Sometimes it is relief that is brought on, but mostly, hospitals send the message as a reminder of the risks they take every day. And the mistakes that leads to rare survivals, and deaths.

He thanks the lord, even though he is not that religious, when he is given permission to enter the small room. It reminds him of cubicles, even if there are four permanent walls instead of the curtains they usually use. Dreadful thoughts hit him. If she has been given a room, it's bad. Or the hospital just happens to have the beds for it.

She isn't as pale as he expected; which is good. She is talking to the male doctor about medication, but her words are slow and exhausted. Somewhere in-between the time of arrival and now, she has changed into a hospital gown. He wonders shortly if her clothes have been cut apart, but is overwhelmed by relief that she is even awake. He daren't think of the alternatives. Against her brunette hair, she is awfully white, but the truly white gown creates another glow to her skin that only because of her tan is able to win him over to the side of her being okay. He had no idea of why she was driving, but the usual suspects are molded inside him: to a bar, a club, a date gone wrong, perhaps? The possibilities are endless, but all that matters for now is her conscious mind. The fact that she's okay.

He lets them finish, barely in the doorway. Kylie has left him and Nell has as well as evaporated. He suspects that her tagging along was Hetty's doing, but he doesn't argue. There has been enough hazardous driving for one night.

He finds himself looking at her, truly _looking _at her, as if trying to memorize her for later detail. Albeit pale, she is tucked into bed like a child, the thin hospital-issue bedding. He feels himself pulled toward the discussion, but stops in a halt. Doctor/patient confidentiality. Whatever injury, it is strictly hers to discuss. He does, however, find himself grateful that her head seems to be untouched, a tiny bandaid hiding a, hopefully superficial, graze above her right eyebrow, though not too close to her temple.

The moment her mismatched eyes dwell upon him, he is struck by an unusually dry throat. He cannot find any words that suit the situation, and sighing her name in relief seems corny, so he hopes that his eyes express the turmoil within. Whether or not, her eyes widen slightly in surprise only to return to normal in relaxation. While obviously unsure why he's here, she is comfortable about it. Yet the doctor sends her a subtle look to be certain that leaving her alone with him is a good idea.

"Thanks, doctor Cho. It's okay," Kensi says, eyeing the Asian doctor for a moment before returning to the staring contest between them. Once Dr. Cho has left, Deeks wastes no time rushing to her bed. It makes it sound like the room is large, but every nanosecond is too long for Deeks. He needs confirmation that she is alright. He cannot spot any bandaids and casts beyond the bruising on her arm. Still, the worry remains.

"You okay?" he dares to ask.

She nods silently, her eyes harboring a different kind of hurt than the one he has seen. His ocean blue eyes flicker towards the IV in her hand. When he doesn't recognize the medication, he finds himself assuming it's a pain killer.

"What happened?" His voice is sharper, with an edginess he recognizes as worry and concealed disappointment. The slightest anger rises, but he chooses to giver her the benefit of the doubt. After all, their partnership wouldn't have lasted long if they weren't able to let the other explain.

She cringes. He notices that so far, she hasn't spoken at all. "Car crash," her hoarse throat says, as if it explains all. She sees the look upon his face and elaborates.

"I was driving a-and.." She swallows, not out of trauma or recollection but out of weariness. "I was hit by a car. It came out of nowhere," she admits, looking tired.

"What meds do they have you on?"

She informs him and he widens his eyes. The question in his eyes is, however, inevitable. He has never seen Kensi back away from a fight, but when it comes to her own emotional dilemmas, she is too easily shied away.

"How bad is it?"

"I've broken bones in both legs because I was squeezed in the wreckage," Kensi declares bluntly, awaiting his reaction. Sensing that it isn't all, he motions to her head. As if only remembering now, she travels her index finger along the white bandaid. "Yeah, I got a little smashed up," she admits sullenly.

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><p><strong>Next part coming up!<strong>


	2. Jobs

**A/N: **A bit shorter this time, but if it makes up for it, I'm currently on part five. Sorry if the title doesn't match the content, couldn't think of something better. It is, as part one, unbetaed. Raw.

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its content and characters. **

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><p><strong>Part 2: Jobs<strong>

Doctor Cho comes back before Deeks can even wrap his mind around the consequences. His fingers itch to grab around the other driver's neck and squeeze, but he manages to stay calm. What he cannot deny, though, is the fact that Kensi literally in a wheelchair will change their partnership. How will Hetty react? Will she be confined to a desk? Kensi doesn't trust people easily, even if they're other NCIS agents. Will she be transferred to another office? Somehow, he cannot imagine that. Does Hetty even know? Kensi doesn't seem to have been talked through the procedural confinement. Then again, he is not aware of the complications that may or may not appear along the way.

So he asks the lovely Dr. Cho. The man is in his early forties, a slight greyish tinge in his otherwise black hair, along with stereotypical Asian features that follow his surname. He looks like an otherwise charming personality, but the white medical coat adds a layer of professionalism that the wedding band on his left ring finger does not. He is solemn when he explains her injuries and the treatments. He is easy to trust and clearly a family guy. Their profession, however, leaves them a little distrustful of new. Especially when taking into consideration that Dr. Cho has Kensi's health in his hands.

The kind doctor informs Deeks of what he has already been told by Kensi, and then some. He tells them that she is free to leave if she has somebody to look after her, but she can stay the night and of course she will be given the proper instructions and necessities once she is discharged. The proper arrangements will also be made, with her consent, which means a physio-therapist. The fact that the severe injury will leave her partially and temporarily crippled is obviously an issue.

"I am sure that your workplace will grant you more appropriate working tasks, Miss Blye. What do you do?" To any person, the question would seem casual if Cho hadn't been taking notes, obviously willing to contact her workplace for "proper arrangements".

"_We _are private security guards," Deeks explains, being careful not to sound hostile or territorial. Cho seems like a faithful husband with good morals. Plus, Kensi'd be pissed if she ever caught him red-handed. The slight tilt of her head tells him that she is comfortable with the alias. Cho wouldn't be asking if he knew.

"So you're a colleague?" Cho sounds suspicious; then again, it could be modern curiosity.

"Er, more of a friend," Deeks corrects, flickering his eyes to Kensi who is calmly surveying the conversation. He wants to reach for her hand, but the motion seems too intimate and Kensi is already hiding behind the mask of shock. Partially.

"Well, is there anybody else to call? You will need somebody to help you with your every-day routine, at least until you get adjusted," Dr. Cho assures her, like he has somehow sensed that Kensi is the kind of woman who'd think she'd been able to do anything herself. He also glances casually at Deeks, but the undercover cop senses the true hint in Cho's eyes. _Is he really the most responsible person you could find? _Deeks has had people underestimate him in his past – it's usually his best advantage – but it still hurts a little bit that a doctor can't entirely trust his responsible side.

Kensi takes his side. "No, I'll fix that myself. With my job, too."

Dr. Cho leaves them alone, reminding Kensi that she needs rest, and sending the rest of the team in. Nell keeps in the background, but Callen and Hetty steps forward. Confusion upon her face, Callen senses the question she dares not to ask.

"Sam's on his way."

"You didn't have to come, guys..," Kensi states, shrugging it off like she's used to. Hetty's hand slides to Kensi's in firm relief.

"We did. With your driving, somebody had to defend you," Callen says with a teasing smile. She grins in all her paleness.

Hetty's serious eyes turn even more solemn. "What is the matter, miss Blye?"

Kensi sends Callen and Nell a look that makes it clear that, unlike Deeks, they do not know the extent of her injuries. For all they know, she could merely have broken an ankle. His partner knows that keeping secrets from Hetty is near impossible, but it strikes Deeks that she may not be willing to admit the defeat a set-back like this will cost her. At least he is glad she is acknowledging her newfound disadvantage.

"I'll need some time off," Kensi admits as soon as the two have left the room, biting her own lip. Deeks is actually amazed to hear it.

"Injuries?"

Kensi's response is plain, casual and blunt. "Broken legs. Cut in the forehead. Swollen ankles. Nothing too serious."

The small leader nods, her eyes widening slightly. It appears Hetty didn't know, but Deeks knows better than to gloat. Not appropriate time, surely not appropriate person. "The arrangements?"

"I'll think of something. I'm gonna need some time off."

Nod. "You _do _have some unspent vacation time coming up. But why, Miss Blye, do you not wish the others to know? You have depended upon them for backup countless times."

Kensi's eyes flicker to Deeks, then back to Hetty.

"It's better if I go on a leave," the brunette shrugs.

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><p><strong>Reviews are welcomed :D<strong>


	3. Blackmail

**A/N: WOW! **I now have 26 emails in my inbox concerning this story. Reviews, story alerts, author alerts, favorite story, favorite authors, et cetera. I am beyond pleased. Which is why I'm asking you to **let me know if there's anything you'd like to appear in this story. **Questions, scenes you'd like to reference..

I apologize for the bad title of this part. Couldn't think of anything better.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters and content.

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><p><strong>Part 3: Blackmail<strong>

How he manages to convince his partner that he is driving her home is a wonder he'll never even believe himself, but the next day, he has troubles not smiling at the stubborn expression going the wheelchair's way. One of the many nurses have transported it to Kensi's room while she took a nap. Surely, Kensi would have protested if she'd been awake. Either way, she tries four times to get out of her bed without help before Dr. Cho is called. Deeks arrives few minutes after to a red-headed Kensi Blye, furious about her choice. Both her legs have been set in a cast, rendering her hilariously helpless.

The wheelchair is defeat embodied for Kensi Marie Blye. Deeks is certain of it, and he gets the nurses talked out of the room while Dr. Cho patiently explains his hard-headed partner the necessity. It gives Deeks some time to actually scan the fearsome piece of hospital equipment.

The utensil is black, utterly impersonal and into its sides have been inked: BELONGS TO L.A. GENERAL HOSPITAL – RETURN SOONEST POSSIBLE. By the looks of the stern nurse that left it in his care, they mean it quite serious. The seat looks barely comfortable, as it is a vinyl-upholstered pad in its dashing blackness. Huh. It has two push handles in the back, four wheels (two large ones with aluminum handrims, and two smaller caster wheels at the footrests) and is manually propelled. The monstrous piece of equipment reminds Deeks of old people and he has a hard time imagining Kensi in one.

For the first time, the word disability comes to mind. But if he has to convince Kensi to be transported in one (or, knowing her stubborn independency, use one), he has to believe and visualize it himself. Not that it'd make the task easier. He knows that Kensi recognizes the irony too. She would rather be confined to a bed than to a wheelchair.

"Miss Blye, you do realize that with both your legs temporarily unusable –!" Deeks recognizes the fear in Dr. Cho's voice. Knowing Kensi, she has probably threatened him if he comes near her. Logic and reason are powerful tools, but not necessarily wise ones when dealing with Kensi and persuasion.

"Kensi," Deeks breathes, shaking his head. "You're either going or staying here. If not by that one–" – he points in the wheelchair's direction – " –then I'm gonna throw you over my shoulder and drag you to the car. It'll be painful and highly humiliating but either way, if you're going, it's not on these long, broken legs of yours."

Where other women might have cried and called him a selfish, insensitive jerk, Deeks knows that Kensi is reasonable. Since the doctor's words haven't worked, he is trying the more direct approach. She may hate him for it, but it's the way. He knows that Dr. Cho would argue if he hadn't already tried more subtler approaches. Plus, he can almost sense Kensi climbing the walls – figuratively speaking. She does not like hospitals. But, he also knows that the pain won't be hers alone if Kensi chooses option B. She _will_ kick and scream like the daughter of a marine she is.

The woman in questions gawks at him for a moment, then sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes, motioning that she has declared her own disability, allowing the wheelchair to win. "Doesn't mean I have to like it," she hisses as he drives the lightweight wheelchair to the bedside.

Dr. Cho hesitantly helps her into the wheelchair. It'd be a shame to summon more nurses. It'd definitely dismay Kensi. And, as Dr. Cho has stated himself, Kensi needs rest, not temperamental outbursts. It may prove harder than assumed. Deeks cannot help by notice Kensi wincing beneath her breath as they move her to the chair.

It does look weird, and awkward. The fact that he is touching a cast upon Kensi's skin is peculiar. He tries not to think of it. Kensi is more uncomfortable, as she cannot move her legs freely as she is used to. Deeks listens and observes as a nurse is summoned and instructs the two in how to use the utensil properly. Kensi's temper flares during so, but she does not like the child-like helplessness.

"I have written a recommendation for a physical therapist near Santa Monica pier. She is very good and due to the special circumstances, you'll find her great," Cho says, mostly to Deeks while Kensi protests at being pushed though she is hardly getting anywhere by herself with the handrims. The nurse by her side is insisting that it'll come naturally after a few days, even weeks until she has built the right muscles.

"That's great. Can we discharge her now?" Deeks asks.

"If you can get her to the nurse station without.." Cho trails off, insinuating Kensi's bad temper. Even on pain killers, she is temperamental. He won't go near those handles if he doesn't have to, and Deeks understands. Kensi gritters her teeth when Deeks does so, her expression murderous.

"Ease down, Fern, it's temporary," he reminds her, hoping it will make him at her mercy. He has the papers with arrangements and schedules in one hand that is also leading the left handle.

"At least you have a skill in your undercover work arsenal that Callen and Sam don't posses," Deeks whispers in her ear as he bows down. It seems to calm her some.

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><p><strong>Your favorite moment so far?<strong>


	4. Small Joys

**A/N: **Thank you for all the great reviews! I hope you'll like this part.

**85** – I am planning that, but so far, I agree. That's why I threw in the threat in _Part 3: Blackmail_. But I'm planning it as we speak! You're right, now, she would kill him.

**SunnyCitrus10** – Thank you for the amazing message! I'll keep you to the promise. But yeah, I liked writing that part, too. Could totally envision it, even the glares Kensi would sent him! I am going for a more casual Kensi though, but her trust issues will flare up in anger once we have passed the small depression.

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters and contents.**

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><p><strong>Part 4: Small Joys<strong>

Kensi wouldn't be Kensi if she didn't try to convince him that she doesn't need help adjusting. Of course, it quickly turns into a heated argument between the partners and when Deeks' car pulls up to her street, she is sitting next to him, doing her best to ignore him with crossed arms. The fury behind her eyes aren't intense but enough to make him sigh as he turns off the engine. They sit there for a while, neither willing to break the spell. Like always, he must be the peacemaker.

"Listen, you're lucky to even be let out of the hospital. Had I been Cho, I wouldn't have. He obviously doesn't know you, but _I do. _I know you're gonna act like you can do everything yourself, and hell, if the situation had been different, you might have–."

" –Definitely could have –," she interjects stubbornly.

"_Definitely could have_, but now you'll need my help whether you like it or not," Deeks states. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see her smile just a little over the won argument. Small joys.

He opens the door and gets out, motioning for her to wait, to get the wheelchair. The glare she sends it is one full of contempt, but it doesn't feel her resentment as Deeks places it on the passenger side of the car. He helps her get into it without further comments, sensing her hatred of the situation, but once she is securely placed in it, he cannot help but say, already dodging a snide comment,

"Wait and see, you'll be terrorizing the neighborhood in no time in this one." He reaches for the handles, but a growl from Kensi stops the movement. He lets her push the handrims by herself, walking beside her. The awkwardness is certain. Luckily there's a lift designed for people with her, er, disability, where she lives. Whether she likes it – and she doesn't – or not, she'll have to adjust. And even though their lives depend upon adjusting to new settings, Deeks doubts that this will make an easy transition for Kensi who is used to being totally independent.

He fumbles with her keys, causing her to roll those mismatched eyes and pad the wheelchair impatiently and repeatedly. Her hands are in her lap by the time he opens the door, stepping aside for her to guide the wheelchair into her home.

He has been there before, yet Deeks sees the faults only when he scans the room. The potential hazards. Kensi, of course, wouldn't even talk about altering her home to benefit her new, albeit temporary, disability. Luckily the wheelchair with its handrims slips easily through the threshold. Deeks releases a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. She already looks exhaustion past her determination. Fighting her new situation has left her tired. Usually, he'd offer her solace or rest, or even loneliness, but he cannot leave her alone the first night. Not until they've found some sort of solution. Wanting to converse casually while Kensi walks, er, pushes herself through her home, watching it from a lower point of view, Deeks begins to talk practically.

"I called a mechanic about your car.." Uneasy territory; she seemed fine to ride in the car without him, not frightened by the memories.

"You called Paolo?" Her tone is more vivid that he'd expected.

"Yeah. He's gonna _try_ to fix your car," Deeks states, thinking about the awkward conversation in which the mechanic first refused to even take the car. Of course, Kensi was good business, but the mechanic was obviously aware of Kensi's tendencies around cars. After severely convincing Paolo to get a tow-truck to take the car to his shop, the mechanic agreed; the bill would be grand if he'd even be able to make it work. Then he'd thrown in a joke that this was the worst damage he'd seen so far. Deeks nearly cringes at the memory. When he saw the car, it was made clear how Kensi's legs had ended up broken.

Even with her tendency to damage any vehicle she meets, not due to bad driving necessarily, Deeks also knows that Kensi adores her wheels. Well, not her new ones, but the cars she drives. And the smile that she sends him through the resentment of her situation confirms that.

"Well, I need to get the things from my car," Deeks excuses, uncertain whether or not to leave her. "You okay?"

"Yes, Deeks," Kensi says gloomily. She is letting her eyes fall upon the items of familiarity that are now, physically, out of her reach.

Only when Deeks is returning from the car with his overnight duffel bag among the things needed for Kensi, he realizes that Kensi's new dispirited nature may be from her own disability, but also out of shock. The sudden change and following transition she has been forced into. He puts the stuff on the kitchen table, being careful not to notice the dirty dishes in the sink. It only reminds him further of the in-expectancy and inconvenience of this. Is there one thing Kensi doesn't like, it's being helpless. It probably has something to do with her father being a marine. Either way, it makes Deeks wonder where she gets her Kensiness from; her stubborn, bad-ass attitude.

The liaison dumps the duffel bag on the floor, silently watching Kensi. Secretly he has always found her quite entrancing, and her gorgeousness is one of the reasons she works so well. She is adept at deceiving, though Hetty has confined in him of her uncertainty when lying. Despite the fact that he will never admit it out aloud, Kensi is better than him at a lot of things due to her determination and natural talent. Oh, and her upbringing. Her sullenness saddens him.

Her demeanor has fallen dull out of exhaustion and dispiritedness. Her eyes are clouded by the uncertainty of the following weeks. She sits in the wheelchair, admiring or scrutinizing the traces of her in the apartment. The sun is downing, an amazing view from the window, but Kensi painfully clutches the handrims as if hit by sudden agony. Forgetting all about the beautiful rays, Deeks all but rushes to her side.

"You ned your pain medication, Kens," he reminds her.

"No, I'll be _fine_," she says stiffly, biting her bottom lip as she tries – and fails – to conceal her pain. He ignores her statement, finding the medication in the plastic bag from the hospital's pharmacy. A few minutes after, her refusals die out, and she looks at him reproachfully.

"You needed it," Deeks states in his defense.

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><p><strong>Kensi-sque moments? Somebody catchrecognize the moment hint in the end from the show?**

**Whatcha like, whatcha don't?**


	5. Sleep

**A/N: **This is just a filler. Not an actual part, but hey, it's something..

**Jesse -** I only notice it myself now. All of what you state makes sense, and I'll try to Deeksify/Kensify the characters. I am just having a hard time adopting scenes you may find funny. Believe it or not, American humor and Danish humor aren't the same. It also hard balancing the sudden seriousness required by Deeks with his usual banter/flirt/tease, and so with Kensi being shocked and accepting the injury. I am trying to make it as real as I can, but I'll definitely try harder in the next parts I'll write (I'm on part eight now) to be more casual and teasing. It's obviously too angsty right now.

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

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><p><strong>Part 5: Sleep<strong>

They manage to get some comfort out of it. Kensi's movements are equally awkward and stiff but at no time does she admit to not being in full control of her body. Deeks conjures a DVD from the boxes under her coffee table, a chick flick (because there are no Top Models reruns for the evening). He smiles and cracks a joke about it, but somehow revives the old Kensi because she hits ham brief and hard on his shoulder, forming tears in his eyes which he quickly ushers away. It'll bruise, but it's worth it. Kensi climbs from the wheelchair to the couch, mostly without his help, and Deeks must scoot over to get room for Kensi's casted legs. Fortunately the casts have been applied conveniently so she is able to lie somehow comfortably.

"Need a blanket?" he jokes, but wisely keeps his arms out of her reach. He is surprised when she nods, obviously sensing both his and her own dismay over the casts' display. They look too foreign on her tanned legs, too pale like a burial shroud. The blanket he finds manages to hide it kindly so they can pretend, for awhile, that everything's normal.

They put the DVD on and it turns out to be okay, all things considered. Kensi even manages to laugh, which he assumes by the soft chuckles and snorts, sometimes despite her dampened mood. When the credits roll down the screen to joyous music, his partner has fallen asleep against his chest, her deep brown curls hiding her face in a bushy mane. Dr. Cho said the pain medication might make her drowsy and sleepy, but she is totally out. Unstirred, Deeks decides to carry her to her bed. It is difficult, because her weight is uneven due to the casts, but he manages to tuck her in without tipping something over. Once he is sure she is safely laid into the bed, the blanket covering her body. He lets her sleep in the camisole and sweats.

Then he goes to fetch his duffel bag. It is looking awfully a lot like the famous _Callen, G_. army-issue bag of the OPS center, but he must admit, it serves its purpose. Unrolling the sleeping mat just outside Kensi's bedroom, but far enough away to give her privacy, Deeks knows that the couch is probably more comfortable, but too far to hear if Kensi needs his help during the night. Besides, he has slept places much less comfortable than the sleeping mat, and with less than a cushion and blanket to keep him cozy. Even then, he strips down and changes into sweats and a wife-beater.


	6. Blush

**A/N: **Just a piece before I go to bed. It's 3:07 AM in my time zone, so I apologize if it's not a good part. The title is randomly chosen during pressure. I'd like to remind everyone that I didn't intend for this to grow into a story; this is the result of my brain amusing itself. I tried throwing in a little Kensiness in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters and contents.

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><p><strong>Part 6: Blush<strong>

The night is thankfully long, and Kensi sleeps in. He skips his morning run, not sure if he is comfortable leaving Kensi alone. But he does begin his morning workout on the terrace, sweating by the time he hears stirring in the house. To the unaware, it would sound like a struggle or domestic feud, or even a robber, but he knows that it is the embodiment of Kensi's stubbornness. He dries the sweat off his face with his towel, then walks inside. In her bedroom, he finds Kensi, desperately clutching the bedcovers, her legs collapsing beneath her. He rushes to her, a motion he has done repeatedly in these past three days, and for the first time, her hands grasp for his body instead of shying away. He steadies her and she welcomes it. She does not allow him to carry her, but it is what he does until he puts her in the wheelchair. For the first time ever, she seems so frail and fragile.

"Breakfast?"

"I was going for the bathroom," she admits. He blushes instantly. It forces a smirk out of her. Had it been anybody else, or perhaps anytime else, he would have sent her a suggestive smile. Bedroom eyes.

Chewing back a too childish response, he strolls her into the bathroom, trying to keep professional. "Thanks, that's it for now," Kensi says.

"You sure –?"

" –Yeah."

"I could stay and help you.." Deeks suggest, but must quickly dodge a sponge coming his way. "Hey!"

And she even manages to push him out of the bathroom from the wheelchair. He tries not to think further of what she is doing, but realizes too late that he, too, needs to go to a bathroom to shower. Fearlessly, but aware of the risks, he knocks on the door, praying that she answers.

"Kens, s'okay if I go home to grab some stuff?"

He is about to repeat it when a muffed reply comes back through the door.

"Yeah. I'll be fine," his partner insists. Although he doesn't trust her not to do something foolish, he leaves her place to quickly shower and pick up some things, leaving the bag with a doughnut by the kitchen table.

Monty is glad to see him, wagging his tail a little more than usually, licking his master's face when he arrives, even if he smells like he could use a shower. He showers first, throwing the baggy clothes in his laundry basket before he dresses quickly and then grabs Monty's leash. Not that the dog needs it, but he doesn't have the time to fetch an unleashed Monty who is running aimlessly through the neighborhood. The mutt stares blamefully at him, but soon begins to sniff everything.

Deeks' hair is still damp from the shower by the time he arrives at the beach. It is dog-friendly, and he comes here to surf even if it's a bad place. Besides, he can't leave Monty by himself in the sand because the mutt goes reckless. And he doesn't trust him with random women. He comes here often, and Monty likes it.

Despite his occupation, Deeks likes having solid ground. Before getting the position as liaison with the NCIS Special Ops team, Monty, who was forcefully retired, provided him that. Routine, familiarity. Even as Max Gentry he had the memory of loving eyes and a wagging tail to keep him steady. Now he has his team to rely on, and he trusts them more than some of the LAPD. While not necessarily "his" team, he is a part of it. He belongs. The feeling Monty provided earlier has expended with his NCIS family. He hasn't been replaced, because as much as Sam tries to hide it, NCIS has also adopted Monty, never leaving anyone behind. Which is also why he hasn't told anybody there, not even Kensi, of their first meeting.

He smiles as he thinks of it, then remembers the solemn problems he must face afterwards. He and Hetty solely know of Kensi's condition. Nell might, but the red-haired analyst can keep a secret. After all, Hetty is grooming her (they all know that, but what for, they are clueless). He is not certain why, but Kensi does not want to show this side of her. He doesn't even know how he'll juggle aiding her with work. Can he even take time off from being a liaison? LAPD might grant him some time, but with Kensi "out", the NCIS Ops team will need all the help they've got. Besides, they will suspect. In a week's time, or less, they will visit her to see if she's okay, and they will discover not only that his with her, but also that she is in a wheelchair. Neither side will know how to react. The standoff's gonna be loathsome, but not because of the individuals. No, it is keeping the secret from them that will lead to problems. But it is Kensi's choice to keep quiet and he will follow her wishes if he can.

But he also knows that he'll have to meet in Mission Monday morning with some sort of explanation as to why he needs some days off. Now fact is, Kensi will need someone, and with her trust issues, and his, he won't let anyone aid her in her current, er, condition. Dr. Cho told him that she would gradually gain back her own life. The way he putted it sounded like the accident had taken some part of her life. What he meant is that Kensi will albeit slowly relearn how to do routines, chores, the simpler things..

The thought of physical therapy strikes him. He's completely forgotten about that. Dr. Cho kindly enough gave them a number to a physio-therapist who'd, supposedly, be able to handle Kensi's temper. Since their departure from the hospital, Kensi has slowly faded as she has accepted her condition. And suddenly he gets an idea.


	7. Overanalyze

**A/N: **Before you begin to read, I'm gonna argue that I'm probably still under the influence of alcohol. Yes, this is a pre-"it was too OOC" discovery, so it's Kensi overthinking it. I am too lazy to delete it and start over, but since it's the first Kensi POV in this story, let it be. Yeah, it's so out of character you probably won't recognize Kensi. Ignore the first two sentences, or don't read it all all. It can, vaguely, be considered a filler.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters and contents.

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><p><strong>Part 7: Overanalyze<strong>

She sighs in relief when she hears Deeks leaving, but is also saddened. Her heart sped up when he knocked on the door, even if she was just sitting in the wheelchair, staring at her mirror image. Normally, she'd be exercising by now, then showering, but after her little, embarrassing stunt on the bed, she finds it too humiliating to try and shower, not trusting her own legs. Silent tears slide down her cheeks and she hates herself for crying. She hates herself for being in this wheelchair, but she is also slowly accepting that she is helpless without it. And she hates the fact that Deeks has to see her like this. So far, he hasn't made hurtful jokes, but knowing him, he has probably already let it slip that she's crippled.

Yes, she knows that it is not temporary, but it doesn't make it better. Things she has always considered effortless are now something she is not able to do herself. Not that she doesn't appreciate Deeks being here. After all, he knows her ego. How easily it bruises. He knows her and won't deliberately, even by mistake, make her feel handicapped.

Kensi only remembers flashes of the accident itself. It is returning, and Dr. Cho told her that due to the gash on her forehead, she might feel dizzy. She hasn't even considered it until now. Between fighting the chair and being miserable about it, Deeks has been the one managing the medication. And she is secretly okay with it, though she knows that as soon as she is able to return to her routines, she wants to be alone. She doesn't want to burden Deeks, though he definitely owes her. And who's she kidding? She has herself stayed near his hospital bed, watching over him when he was shot. This shouldn't be different. But it _is_, because it's _her._ Getting hurt in a car accident is sloppy. Something she'd expect of somebody less skilled. But it's her fault, and it's harder to accept than the disability itself.

While she is content that it is Deeks who is playing nurse, she knows that it will be painfully embarrassing if she cannot shower on her own. She is certain that Deeks is unfit for the job, even though she might trust him now where she is hurt. Falling asleep on the couch next to him was a mistake; it bared her, stripped her of the barriers. She blames the meds.

Slowly, Kensi begins to wash her face. She sends the shower-head a longing glance, but decides against it. She won't give Deeks that satisfaction. And she certainly won't acknowledge that she can't even shower on her own. Leave it to the unknowing. The water cleanses her of the tears and badly applied makeup. She is hit by sudden vanity, which is obscure when she hasn't even showered. Her camisole is worn skewed by sleep, and she difficultly maneuvers the wheelchair back to her bedroom to her dresser. Fetching bra, a wrap blouse and yoga pants from the high drawers, she is in a slight pain as she returns to the bathroom. She is thankful that her arms are uninjured and fit. And no, it is not paranoia that has her picking up the gun with her clothes, but simple sense of survival.

The jeans she wore when she was brought to the hospital are ruined. Unfortunate, because they were one of her favorite pairs. She manages to wash herself with water from the sink, splashing unnecessary water on the floor. Luckily she has many towels. With toweled hair, she ranks her spine to see the mirror image. Bags under her eyes are physical proof of the weariness that cocoons her. Well, even if she cannot totally remove the flicker of pity she has seen skate across Deeks' face, she can definitely do something to even appear like she's okay. She applies the standard makeup that's required for a young woman in LA on a Sunday afternoon. Afternoon?

She checks the time and realizes it's nearly 1.00 PM. Must be the pain medication. Luckily she is not one of the types that becomes high on their pain medication and reveals stupid, embarrassing things. Last time any of that happened to her was a night-out in high school with a girlfriend who encouraged her to drink too heavily. Next morning, everybody in her circle of friends knew that she had a crush on Javier and still slept with a teddybear. Ever since, she has been profound in holding her liquor. Definitely better than Deeks, who is a bad drunk except when he is playing a part. Perhaps not as good as Callen and Sam, but also better than Nate. Then again, who isn't. It's never easy to tell with Nate. He's a better psychologist/liar than anyone gives him credit for.

It feels weird to apply mascara when you cannot change pants on your own. She tries, and it hurts slightly, and the casts are more inconvenient than helpful, but she manages to change into a pair of pants she uses for Pilates. They're soft and not too warm in the Los Angeles sun. She'd preferred cotton pants, like Dr. Cho had recommended, but her last pair got ruined in the laundry. She does not see herself going shopping anytime soon. Maybe she can convince Deeks... no, that'd be weird.

Although she quickly dismissed her injuries when she talked to Deeks and Hetty at the hospital yesterday, she is concerned. Dr. Cho was optimistic, and told her so, but being a lip reader has also enabled her to study faces. And she saw the flicker of doubt when he said there were no complications. Kensi cannot truly remember the doctor's words when it came to her injuries, but all she knows is both legs are broken, one needed surgery. It hurts and itches under the cast, but she has endured greater annoyances. The pain is secondary.

When she feels comfortable showing her face, she pushes the wheelchair from the bathroom, dumping the clothes she has slept in into the laundry basket. She will worry about it later. Discovering the doughnut, she wonders when Deeks had the time to fetch her favorite breakfast meal.


	8. Back to Being Kensi

**A/N: **Thank y'all for the nice reviews. This is short, but I think it's very Kensified. It's kinda late, but Happy New Year!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters and contents.

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><p><strong>Part 8: Back to Being Kensi<strong>

Monty moves eagerly beside him, actually being in the way as he balances the bags. He has done some grocery shopping, but has also, like he said he would, fetched some things from his place. The mutt in front of him jogs peacefully from the car to the front-yard of Kensi's place. Effortlessly, he shakes his scruffy fur before sitting down, waiting for Deeks to come push the button for the elevator.

"Lazy mutt," Deeks scolds affectionately, scratching the retired dog behind his ear. He is rewarded with a playful pout from his roommate.

He isn't sure how Kensi will respond to him bringing Monty. Hopefully, she won't mind. Besides, he meant it when he once stated that Monty was trained as a service dog. Just not that kind of service dog be it, but if Deeks is lucky, he might be able to cheer Kensi up. The dog has always been source of mocking from her side, but deeply inside, Deeks is certain – or he hopes so – that his partner has a soft spot for the mutt.

"I'm home!" he yells out jokingly, stumbling across the mutt who hurries in, nearly scooping him off balance. He grunts and breaks the fall by reaching for the kitchen counter. He can hear someone scoff and barely contain a laugh.

"Walk much, Deeks?" Kensi asks playfully, sitting the middle of the room in fresh clothes. The army-green color of the top suits her, and she has brushed her hair as well. Seems her independency is returning. Monty wags his tail at the sight of Kensi, but is reluctant to go near the wheelchair.

"Just stretching," he covers, putting the groceries down as he tries not to fall. "And you should be thankful that I didn't get brain damage the way you throw," he adds, referring to his departure this morning.

"Was there in the first place," she states quickly, looking into the bags. "Besides, I was just practicing my aim," Kensi defends herself rationally, barely containing a smirk.

"Never needed practicing," Deeks murmurs under his breath, feigning pain.

"If you get brain damage from a sponge then there's not a lot left, Deeks," the brunette remarks as she stretches her hand to pet Monty. The dog loyally sits down beside her, sniffing the wheelchair while he looks very cozy with the treatment he's getting.

"You'll never know, Fern," he throws back, already sensing how he is losing this bantering.

He unloads the bag, adding some of his own stuff to the pile next to the duffel bag. Without looking over his shoulder for Kensi (knowing she's there, probably smirking her cute ass off), he starts talking.

"You know, Dr. Cho recommended that you moved some of the stuff from your upper cupboards to the lower ones. Y'know, to make them more accessible," Deeks says, stressing the word 'accessible'.

Kensi snorts, but her expression softens. She places her hands in her lap even though she hates being still. "Okay," she dismisses. Somehow she makes the gesture defiant though Deeks isn't sure how she does it. The flare behind her eyes is one he recognizes and one that ignites the spark that is Kensi Blye, ladies and gentlemen.

Plus, he'd rather deal with a defiant Kensi than an outright furious one any given day. However, it is these moments – the small comments he makes that seem to unravel Kensi – he lives for. He is like a third grader, doing anything to get a reaction out of a fellow third grader. Hell, he doubts if Kensi would even notice him if they weren't partners against crime. She is the sorta girl who looks great in whatever, wheelchair perhaps excluded.

"You wanna have me do it?" Deeks hesitantly asks, fearing the worst.

She arches her brow. "This is one of those times where you just have two options.." She nods courtly, then turns the wheelchair 180 degrees, trailing off.

Deeks takes that as a "yes". Monty has already abandoned ship to walk off with Kensi. Deeks would be hurt if his partner hadn't needed the companionship. And Monty has always been known to have a soft spot for the ladies. Despite his less-than-perfect pedigree, he has many times been called cute and handsome. Quietly, Deeks begins to move her stuff around. It's gonna kill Kensi if he doesn't, because then even grabbing a glass of water will be a challenge. Normally, he'd be all in for challenging her (though he knows she has a tendency of underestimating him), but defeat makes her grumpy. And asking him to grab something every time she needs it will be like servitude, Kensi won't adjust well.

With a smirk he sees the empty doughnut bag in the trash as he throws old tea bags out. He has never figured her for a tea kinda person, but he won't tell, unless she gets really cranky. Or brags humbly.

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><p><strong>Teaser for next chapter: Deeks goes back to work, leaving Kensi all alone, and him to answer Sam, Callen and Hetty's questions. <strong>


	9. Monday

**A/N: **After watching 3x12 this afternoon, I felt inspired. I loved "The Watchers", did you? Anyway, just finished this. I realize I couldn't make room for the Deeks, Callen and Sam questioning him, and Kensi home alone, so it'll be next part. I hope you like!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters and content.

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><p><strong>Part 9: Monday<strong>

Quiet is usually the indication that something is wrong. The atmosphere is awfully stiff to move around in, and one's breath is so loud it is nauseatingly deafening. The silence that surrounds the Operations Center at six-thirty in the morning is exactly as lonely and welcome as sleep. His ocean-blue eyes skate across the empty desks of the bullpen, and he feels as uncrowded as he has ever been. It is absurd to be here so early, but what is more bizarre is that he is all alone. It was odd to find himself going to work even though it has been less than three days since he was here last.

Many hours have passed since, and much has happened. Awakening yards from his partner for two days have seemed so normal, so accustomed. Awakening Monday morning felt like being hit by a bucket of ice water. But he didn't complain, not even when he got dressed and left. Stopped by his place before coming here.

There's a salty taste in his mouth that he can't define. It's not because what he has been doing is wrong or shameful. He does not feel guilty about helping Kens adjust, being her care-giver – when she lets him. She is getting more independent, even managed to shower on her own (after he helped put plastic around both her casts). The cut on her forehead is slowly healing and her stubbornness is growing back. He, on the other hand, has a light bruise on his bicep from where she hit him yesterday – or was it the day before? Spending time at Kensi's has become somewhat normal for him, even though she has only been injured and in his care since Friday. So, he has left her to herself, though not entirely. She has Monty by her side, but Deeks doubts the mutt will be able to actually do anything but keep her company. Maybe that's enough. The unvoiced request of letting Monty stay was there in Kensi's eyes. He saw it, and chose not to comment, simply leaving Monty to curl up beside her as well as a sixty pound dog can do.

The Operations Center is as heavily disguised as its agents. The facade of an old, condemned Spanish-style building is brilliant, and when he first arrived, he didn't expect it to hold top technology equipment and some of the smartest intelligence analysts of Los Angeles. Like when Kensi dresses up as some easy club girl, you underestimate OPS. Kensi has once said that it used to be an old water plant administration building but it got condemned after an earthquake.

Slowly, after parking his car, he has entered the highly classified location of the most valuable assets of NCIS. Before his employment as a liaison officer, he hadn't thought about the Navy much. Sure, he'd once briefly considered it before he went into law school and police academy, but since then, NCIS had meant coast guard to him. And he surely hadn't expected to find a girl like Kensi there, nor Callen. Sam has that ex-SEAL thing going for him, but there is not a tinge of tough Navy over Callen and Kensi; it's something else. Now where he knows the team, he often contemplates why Kensi didn't join the marines like her father in lieu of becoming an NCIS agent. But he knows the answer. And it's exactly why he became a cop.

He moves silently to his desk and shrugs his messenger bag off his shoulder. He thinks of the sleeping Kensi, the sponge-throwing Kensi, the Kensi who snaps at him, and the Kensi who bursts out laughing. Images spill over him, exploding in a colorful collage, and all he can do is smile.

"Mister Deeks." A throat clears behind him, and even before the rapid spin of his body, he knows it's Hetty. Only she has the ability to sneak up on him like that. Er, at least so he likes to think. The operations manager with endless contacts is wearing a burgundy leisure women's suit, her glasses matching. The piercing yet kind eyes meet his and something ebbs between them. Despite her size, she possesses the ability to startle most of the trained agents of the Office of Special Operations. He hates thinking it, but one underestimate her partially for being female, partially for being small. And it's the first mistakes one makes, and the last.

"Hetty!" he yelps, then sends her a casual smile. Hetty isn't deceitful, just deceiving. Whether it comes from being an operative so long, he has no idea.

"Even I appreciate the efficiency of scheduling one's time of arrival, Mr Deeks, but don't you think it's awfully early to clock in?" the manager asks ambiguously. Her eyes of wisdom are clear like her mind.

At first, Deeks doesn't know what to say. The open-spaced main area is deserted, no agents, no interns, no analysts, no personnel at all aside from him and Hetty. The more he thinks about the fact that he's normally here at eight PM, his brain seems to reboot. "I guess I wanted to be sure that.." he trails off.

Like always, Hetty seems to understand. "You wanted to be certain of your placement as Miss Blye's caregiver. Mr Deeks, I assure you that I won't be that cruel. Dr Cho called me after you discharged your partner two days ago. He said you were the only one able to calm Miss Blye down. And let us not forget the fact that you surely must know her the best," Hetty points out solemnly, daring him to correct her.

"Kensi is stubborn, but she needs help for some basic things," Deeks agrees. He blinks and smiles. "And she makes me feel like I'm unfit for the job."

Hetty sends him a gaze filled by curiosity and understanding. "I can imagine. But you must remember, she has a hard time letting people into her life. Voluntary or not, Miss Blye is not used to asking for help. I understand the awkward challenges you might face, but I truly do not believe anybody can do the job better than you, Mr Deeks."

He sends her an uncertain look. To reassure him, him being the unsure agent that needs affirmation, she voices her thoughts. "Are you sure you are up to the task, Mr Deeks?"

The sudden question leaves Deeks stunned but not speechless. "I'm not her partner to point out her weaknesses, Hetty." His tone turns angry, offended, serious. Determinative. "Just remind her of them."

Hetty smiles that vague smile of hers over him stepping up. Like she never doubted it. Shit, sometimes Deeks suspects he's only there for her to mess around. Or maybe she is just that ambiguous. "Miss Blye has a tendency to be independent, Mr Deeks. It takes her great effort, too."

Deeks nods, understanding. "As long as she wants me there, I'll be there. When she doesn't... I'll think of something. But, Hetty.."

His blue orbs meet hers, seeking guidance, seeking words that can define what he feels. She is so good at reading his minds so today shouldn't be a challenge.

"But you find yourself inadequate and to Miss Blye to discuss what you believe she needs to voice to recover?"

"Yeah."

Hetty nods, understanding. "Well, I'll let you know when I have an answer for you, Mr Deeks. But for now, keep the living arrangements as they are. Miss Blye may underestimate how much she needs your help in the next couple of weeks."

To this, Deeks pales. The fact that Hetty knows about him staying at Kensi's house shouldn't surprise him, but it does.

"I keep watch on my agents, Mr Deeks," Hetty reminds him as she spins around and walks to her office just as Sam arrives, Callen by his side.

"Deeks!" Sam's voice is surprised but brotherly, mostly due to his immediate closeness to Kensi. Out of everyone, Sam has been the most cautious of Deeks since he arrived. Sure, now they have become friends, but only when Deeks proved himself to be a worthy partner of Kensi. She might be the junior agent, and capable of taking care of herself, but Sam and Callen made sure that Deeks had her back before trusting him. And Deeks understands that.

"Hey guys," Deeks responds, still a bit jaded by Hetty's wise advice. He sits dutifully down at his desk, watching as Mission fills with employees. Sam and Callen engage in conversation – banter – after exchanging gazes about Deeks. He has not verbally promised Kensi to keep quiet, but he knows that she will not like them knowing of her disability.

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><p><strong>I promise there'll be some big brothers (Sam and Callen) vs Deeks in next part. And possibly some KensiMonty home alone time. **

**_Did you like my Hetty?_  
><strong>


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